


Modified

by OftenWrongSoong



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Humor, I HAD A THOUGHT, M/M, One Shot, Piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Tattoos, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), and now we're here, maybe the shortest fic I've written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 04:31:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20419955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OftenWrongSoong/pseuds/OftenWrongSoong
Summary: Crowley likes tattoos.Aziraphale doesn't.





	Modified

“Angel! Angel, look!”

A customer is barged unceremoniously out of the way as the demon flings himself into the shop. The human tuts and shakes its head irritably. Crowley is far too pleased with himself to notice.

The angel sat at the desk raises an eyebrow in polite inquiry as the demon lopes over and drags up the sleeve of his shirt.

“Oh, Crowley, _another one?_”

“Couldn't resist, Friday the thirteenth special, look!”

The tattoo is wrapped in clingfilm, shiny and raw-looking under the plastic. Aziraphale shakes his head and purses his lips in a moue of disappointment.

“I thought we'd agreed, no more spur-of-the-moment decisions?”

“But-but look! It's so _cool!_ See?”

“Yes, another snake, how original and unexpected. Crowley, you're running out of _skin!_”

“Ah, bollocks! Got loads of space. Besides, you don't hate all of them! And some of my spur-of-the-moment decisions have been pretty stellar, you have to admit.”

“Oh, such as the tattoo that you had so tastefully inked into your derrière?”

“Come on, you love that one.” Crowley leers. Aziraphale scowls.

“I most certainly do _not_! I have never much liked the idea of having my name on you, and certainly not in such close proximity to the word 'property'!”

The demon perches himself on the edge of the desk and leans back, grinning insolently.

“Oh dear, have I upset you? Naughty me. Sorry-not-sorry.”

“Don't be impudent, Crowley, it doesn't impress me.” The angel leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. The demon runs his eyes up and down his body.

“What are you gonna do about it, angel?”

Later, when he's folded in half face-down and screaming into a pillow, with one of the angel's hands on his hip and the other clenched into a fist in his hair, he will give thanks to whomever is listening that said angel is a stickler for the letter of the law. Because the jacob's ladder does extraordinary things to his quivering insides, and the apadravya rakes his prostate with every thrust, and he can feel the iron crosses on the angel's nipples pressing into his back.

Leviticus 19:28; You shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor tattoo any marks on you: I am the Lord.

The Bible doesn't say anything about _piercings._


End file.
